


Diatribe.

by bqckchat



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Hannibal AU, Hannibal Season 3, M/M, alternate ending for season 3, alternative universe, hannibal is in love and will realizes it, mild angst ?, the gays i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:20:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22117771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bqckchat/pseuds/bqckchat
Summary: Something within him had died - something significant, he was certain - but there was no time to mourn whatsoever it was. He was confronted with so many opportunities, so many decisions which could mean all or nothing.OR the one where Will Graham does not, in fact, send them falling of that cliff.Season 3, alternative ending.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 3
Kudos: 69





	Diatribe.

**Author's Note:**

> Good day ! This is my first work to be posted on this site. I have been writing Will for quite a long time now, and decided that wasting my writing in my notes was not what I wanted.
> 
> Have this short little piece I wrote down a couple of months ago.  
> Thank you ! Hope you enjoy. <3

DIATRIBE

Something within him had died - something significant, he was certain - but there was no time to mourn whatsoever it was. He was confronted with so many opportunities, so many decisions which could mean all or nothing.

Some of them appeared more appealing than others but, if he played them wrong, all of them could lead to something even more fatal. He did not wish for it.

The first option, as prickly as it sounded, remained to betray Hannibal yet again.

This time, though, it would have to be more permanent. He knew, by Lecters softening grip and the undeniable jerk his limbs gave off, that Will could, possibly, wrestle him to the ground. He'd find the knife, already rufescent by Will and Francis', and slam it right into the small gap between one rib and the other; even if it went against how intimate he'd have liked it to be. Nevertheless, he himself was weakened too, so he doubted he could get to any further than that.

He could make a run for it, pack his bags, and Molly’s, and Wally’s, and they'd run. They'd cross over the ocean, land, continent, before any of them could scope him back up. They'd settle somewhere in Europe, nestled close to each other in a far-off house, be joyed and yet still missing parts. With time, surely, Wally would stop being weary of him, maybe get comfortable enough to call him 'dad' and wrap him up in is slender arms. Will would get them a puppy, or more, refuse to hear the complaints, and they'd play basketball in the garden and fish together in the soft afternoon sun.

He’d be a good father.

He'd have a family, an almost finished puzzle, and at night he'd twist and turn and reflect on the Ripper, who they could have been. What they could have been. A new generations Bonnie and Clyde. If it would have ended the same way for them?

The second option, as irresponsible as it sounded, was to send the two of them off that cliff. 

The lines that had distorted between them, conjoined them, would be split back in two upon the rocks, or washed away by the rough licks of the ocean's tongue. Keeping them on its ground. The thought struck Will with both, terror and curiosity. He wondered if Hannibal would forgive him, in the seconds before death, or if they wouldn’t even come as far as to die. Lecter had always been a damn lucky bastard, and it would not shock him to see that they'd be saved by god's good grace and placed back on the shore.

They'd thrash like fish out of water and then, Hannibal would come up with something for the two of them. If not, there was still the chance to bash his skull in with a rock and go back to option one.

The third possibility was, maybe, more gracious.

They could flee. 

It wouldn't be what it was like with Molly. They wouldn't whisper sweet nothings and laugh quietly in the dead of the night over stories shared between them, nor would they be able to go out, to feel like free people again. They wouldn't bake bread every Sunday and share it between the two of them, or go out to watch a football match, sing bad karaoke. They wouldn't be 'in love' in the old-fashioned way, they wouldn't be one happy, married couple. And they certainly wouldn't have a child. Hannibal had ruined that long ago. 

He might even doubt that they'd be content.

Maybe he'd also be a mystery lacking its final clues, then. Maybe he'd just end up craving for Molly. But, if he was frank, had he even been 'in love' with her, or was it more of an appetizer while he waited for the main course?

No matter what he chose, it would have an impact on all of them. It was a life or die situation, for all of them. Should Hannibal get to live, with him or without, he would keep his promises. Alana would be, quite forcefully, reminded of just how well he kept them, but she wouldn’t be the only one.

Jack, possibly, was more of the first prize of the whole set-up. If Graham was correct, Hannibal would still have a bone to pick with Molly, too.

Will ought to keep promises, too. Bedelia would not have seen the last of him, and how could Hannibal dare miss out on such a display?  
There wasn’t much to think about, as much as he acted like there was.  
He didn’t even know if Molly would take him back now that she knew just what he’d become. If not a wife, she was still a mother, and no paternal feeling in the world would allow something dangerous to get even remotely close to its offspring.

Molly was strong, stronger than he was, but she could not wield a gun, should the time come. She couldn’t stomach hurting anyone, not even a single, insignificant, fly. Will didn’t want to think about dragging Wally into all of this, either. He should be safe, spared for as long as possible.

No, he would not go back.

As divine as going for a dip in the ocean sounded, it was a childish act of momentary revenge. Other opportunities to see Hannibal hurt would arise, with the course of time, and he deserved something harsher. Something that would implant Will’s mark on him. Something that would always draw his eyes to it, remind him just what he decided to tame. 

He’d seen Will take a finger, but he wouldn’t be prepared to see him claim the whole hand, and what was beyond, as his to ravage.

Will didn’t know if the breathlessness came from the wounds, the heavy ache spread across his body, or if it was just the joy he felt. It was an unsettling kind of happiness, deep in his bones, that made his knees wobble. He smiled, despite the slash torn into his cheek, the sting of it. He ignored the bubbling blood in his mouth and, instead, focused on the giggles and wholly joyed laughter that dared to crawl up his throat.

“God, Hannibal.”

With the words came a gurgle, and with that came a flood of blood that seeped through the wound and gushed down his jaw. His eyes blinked one, two, three times, trying to stop the squint that came with his never-ending grin. Will sighed, fingers shuffling from Lecters shoulder to his neck, where his thumb painted paths with the slowly drying blood.

The thing between them, as delicate, as fragile, as it once was, had grown way beyond. 

The old Will, as kind-hearted and born to help as he seemed to be, wouldn’t have laughed when he stood bloodied and panting, an escapee. He would have, perchance, shouted till his throat gave out. He would have freaked, stirred, cussed and asked the gods to send him just one last miracle to get him out of this, because fuck, how could this be real?  
Though, he wasn’t that man anymore, and so who was to judge just what brought him his pleasure?

If they knew him, if they knew Hannibal, they would understand the sheer absurdity of the situation. They would understand that no, he had not finally gone mad and was soon to roll around on the floor and screech at the heavens. He was very much sane (as far as sane went). 

The thing that humoured Will to the point of little giggles and unnoticed caresses along Hannibal’s neck was that, all this, all this fucking mess, had simply been the purest form of feelings that Hannibal could have possibly ever offered anyone. It was the most disastrous, disgusting, vile, and beautiful thing. It was gift-wrapped, lipstick stained, signed with kisses and cuddles, and it was theirs. He played just as much of a part in this as Hannibal did, and it was bizarre.

The thing that humoured Will was, simply, that instead of simplistic gestures to show affection, Hannibal had ruined his life, ruined his family, just for Will to stand there and think about killing them. About wasting it all, and Hannibal would have let him do it, because as selfish as he could be, he was still devoted, wasn’t he?

“Forgive me.” 

Even if you don’t know for what. He croaked, only pressing more into the others hold, fingers threading through his hair and tinting it just as red as everything else. 

“Forgive me, Hannibal, and then let’s get out of here.” 

He had no plan where to. Not a single inkling, but the thing that counted was that they were together in this, and maybe there was still a chance that divine intervention would have a try at bringing them down.


End file.
